


dévouement

by aetherpact



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Attempt at Humor, Canon Divergence, Elezen Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Original Character(s), Other, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Rating May Change, Spoilers (Up to Patch 5.1), other character appearances - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherpact/pseuds/aetherpact
Summary: The moments the Warrior of Light spends with Ser Aymeric.(Or: A collection of ficlets that don't have a chronological order or theme to fulfill one's Wolmeric needs.)—————————————12. the night's not over- Banter after indulging in the pleasures of the flesh wasn't very new to the Warrior of Light and Aymeric, anyway.[Vaguely Post-Shadowbringers, Named/Specified WoL, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content]13. the breath of your heart (sings me a lullaby)- Aymeric cannot recall the last time he had a moment to breathe.[Vaguely Post-Shadowbringers, Named/Specified WoL, Established Relationship, Fluff, Content Warning; Panic Attacks]
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	1. put life off for another day

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first rodeo with such a project!! again, this is for fun, so i'm less likely getting any of this beta'd, haha. title + chapters are in french and are "'"""fancy""""" because i can't let this 6 years of french go to waste, dammit. also, english is my second language so forgive me if there's any mistakes
> 
> POVs can switch from 3rd and 2nd from chapter to chapter; WoL's gender can switch from ambiguous to male from chapter to chapter (gotta indulge for my own WoL).
> 
> first chapter is post ShB (5.1 MSQ)!! vague references to stormblood and heavensward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ask Aymeric to take a short walk with you, though it takes a turn that lifts a weight off your shoulders.
> 
> (Post-Shadowbringers, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooooooo it ended up a LOT more differently than i had planned, especially towards the end, but i am a Sucker for self-actualization as a theme in story telling it is Very Powerful and Relatable. 
> 
> i tried something different this time round, since this is very introspective, i feel that dialogue would be a little bit weird since everyone's WoL, i imagine, conveys emotions and talks differently. i don't know how i felt about making aymeric being the only one with dialogue, so his are vague too so you can imagine how says it however you like.

"Strenuous effort" is your middle name and you fulfill it to pry the Lord Commander from his duties. Time was scant; especially when Aymeric was hounded with meetings with the Houses, the Alliance, on top of mountains of paperwork to do.

You wish you can at steal away some of his time. Even for a minute.

That brief moment of selfishness was granted by some miracle, so you *gently *persuade him to take a walk with you in The Pillars. A short tryst in the city would grant some satisfaction. There was no doubt in the smile shining in his eyes and laced in his words when he indulges in your request. The Coerthan winter was still a season you rarely fared with, but the cold biting your fingertips was immediately assuaged by the warmth when he takes your hand in his.

You're quite a distance away from his office in the Congregation, your conversation given way to casual banter and occasional, coy yet affectionate exchanges. Weaving through the darkened streets and around the lofty buildings in the late night slightly stirs your senses. Although with him at your side, you've got nothing to fear, you remind yourself. He matches his pace with yours, footsteps in unison. Your heartbeat seems drowns out the sound.

Spotting others in this time of night was uncommon, save for the guards and meandering civilians. The less prying eyes, the better.

Both of you agreed to take a moment on one of the benches surrounding the intricate fountain on the lower level. You slowly guide your eyes around your surroundings, the soft glow from streetlamps and The Vault in the distance subtly illuminating the architecture. The running water from the fountain behind you was not as harsh as you'd think it be; a pleasant hum amidst the quiet night and his words. New tidings were a rare commonplace Aymeric admits and he'd rather not bore you with the pleasantries of politics. You find yourself conceding with him–your journey in the First felt like a lifetime. Days had only passed in the Source. Finding courage to tell him what exactly had happened seems like an insurmountable task. Instead, you opt to recount a more introspective manner of your tale.

You take a deep inhale, the chilled air fighting against your lungs before you ask him if he wanted to know his father's last words to you. The archbishop's words haunted you since that fateful day. The question evidently took him by surprise as he turns his head towards the ground, eyes narrowed in deep consideration. Moments later, he exhales. And you do the same. He nods, citing that he trusts you and in your words. You settle on the wooden bench, pondering the words to convey what you want to lay before him. You repeat Thordan's last words to you before him.

_What are you?_

Aymeric blinks, stunned, with his eyebrows raised then a frown forms on his face. That look doesn't suit him, you think. He opens his mouth to answer, but promptly purses his lips in self-conflict; a sign for you to continue. You tell him that those words have been a stubborn phantom pain in your chest, lingering like a vulture circling its prey. Even the way the archbishop said it–with horror and fear–tightens the claw of doubt around your heart.

The raven-haired Elezen offers a few words of his own, correctly guessing that your reaction shows that it is not an easy answer. Closing your eyes, you continue, remarking that the most obvious answer is that you’re the Warrior of Light. The Champion of Eorzea. The Hero of the Source. Yet those titles are merely _titles_ adorned with a soul-crushing weight to carry. Your encounter with Zenos did little to fend your doubts. He called you a _beast_ to be hunted; as if your only goal was to kill, destroy, and annihilate those in your righteous path. It was Zenos who found _camaraderie_ and common ground with you–in that you’re both battle-hardened weapons to be deployed in war, doing whatever is ordered of them. You then remember the civilians you’ve met and the friends you’ve made along your journey. Many of which were amazed that your powers are used to protect them. To save others. To pave a path towards a brighter future.

_Why should such stark perspectives of your title exist?_

Your heart lurches as you then recall those golden eyes that burned into your soul as Emet-Selch seethed at you, declaring that you were nothing but a broken husk. The denizens of the ancient city of Amaurot speaking to you as if you _belonged_ there. Hythlodaeus calling you his new old friend. All while you nearly became the very thing you fought to save the First from. The answer to the archbishop’s question revealed itself.

You truly are capable of being a monster.

A hand delicately strokes your back, bringing you back to reality as you’re pulled out of your sea of words. Aymeric’s eyes are soft when you meet them with yours. You realize that he heard you call yourself a monster. With a mellow, assuring tone he tells you that yes, you are all those titles that the realm gives you, though not many know the person behind them. Nor have the opportunity to do so. Not many know you–the _real_ you. Not many are aware of your own fears, doubts, and insecurities, for all they see is the Warrior of Light; the Hero from the tales lovingly written into the parchments of history. What you’ve gone through, Aymeric goes on, is far beyond what any ordinary soul can do. His hand stops and gently trails down your arm to rest over your hand, which you find is subconsciously clutching the bench.

You study his face. You’re at your most vulnerable state, pouring out the questions plaguing your mind for the longest. Yet he sits here before you, his eyes so full of love and understanding.

You swear that he is more of a blessing to you than the mark from Hydaelyn.

With a sigh, you tell him that you obviously intended to not have led this night into such a profound conversation. He shakes his head, replying that he is eternally grateful that you trust him enough for you to open up to him like this. You feel tears threatening to well up in your eyes. Aymeric doesn’t treat you only as a figure to be revered, to be worshiped for your deeds.

You regret it almost immediately as you ask him what you have done to deserve _him_. A smile graces upon his lips. He reminds of you the many good-natured and selfless deeds you’ve done.

The most noble deed you have done, he notes, is continuing to be yourself. To be _you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! tho the next one will likely be much shorter, expect some kisses in the one right after because. square enix is depriving us of that Good Content


	2. everything i'd never regret

The Warrior of Light feels the guilt gnaw at his very soul, not very long after it threatened to burst at the seams.

Returning to the Source without the Scions once again felt like another failure, but there was no other choice than to press on. After Tataru and Krile's rather persistent suggestions that he should rest, his legs had landed him in Ishgard during a mind-numbing, self-reflecting trek from Mor Dhona. The solid, deep charcoal-grey of the stone architecture was at least a familiar, grounding sight.

And of course, his legs have also led him to none other than the De Borel manor.

The steward was surprised by the Warrior's unannounced visit. He politely led him into the manor, before leaving to swiftly inform the Viscount of the manor of his visiting guest. He settles on a plush velvet coach in living room while noting how simply luxurious the entire manor is. Recounting all the small details from the dinner after the Dragonsong War, he silently wishes that he can perhaps see more at a later time.

The Warrior laughs to himself quietly as he hears Aymeric's not-so-subtle footsteps from the grand hallway, the Elezen's eyes immediately resting on him.

Ayneric's brilliant smile reached his eyes and breathlessly he says, "It's been too long, my dear friend." He then offers his arm to the Warrior of Light, an invitation to stand up with him. No more words needed to be exchanged. The Warrior feels a creeping flush against his neck. It's an entirely platonic gesture, he tells himself, but cannot help and swiftly roam his eyes towards Aymeric, noticing just how unfairly handsome the man still is when garbed in vestments other than his usual armor. He takes the offered hand and stands up. Although a bit too quickly and staggers. Aymeric holds out his free arm against the adventurer’s chest, worry plain on his features, "Are you alright?"

The Warrior collects himself and gives a firm nod to Aymeric who then nods in return.

* * *

"Is it cowardly to sometimes dream of running away from it all?"

The question from the Warrior of Light seems to stun Aymeric for a moment; his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Both have retired to the den where Aymeric signed and looked over papers, as is his role as Speaker of the House of Lords. The other man had lain upon one of the loveseats across the fireplace with his head propped on the armchair (at Aymeric's gentle teasing that he is free to rest however he likes). Exhaling softly, Aymeric stands up and slowly stepped to where the Warrior of Light was now resting his arm over his eyes. He then takes a seat next to the Warrior–who corrects his posture in alarm–embarrassed to be caught in such a state. The Lord Commander gingerly places his hand on the other man's shoulder in reassurance, before speaking in soft tone.

"No, I do not think of you as a coward. Far from it. The hope of Eorzea is too much to bear on one's shoulders."

The Warrior didn’t anticipate such a direct answer from the Elezen, the words flowing like a gentle stream in his ears. Unsure how to respond, the Warrior bashfully smiles at Aymeric, “I know that I’m not alone in bearing this burden. Yet on some days,” he trails off, lost in his thoughts, “it’s too much. To think that my journey has led up to the present like this.” Fordola’s words bubbled through the surface of the Warrior’s mind. He spots Aymeric’s gaze beyond his own eyes, who was searching for words.

Aghast at his recklessness, the Warrior tried to save the conversation, “M-my apologies for suddenly venting my worries!”

Aymeric once again fixes his eyes on the him, chuckling while shaking his head, “Fear not, Warrior. Before you are the stalwart ally to Ishgard and her people, you are a friend of mine. Whatever burdens you have, pray tell me what is bothering you.”

 _Another day, perhaps,_ the Warrior of Light tells himself _, I’m not ready to recall such events._ Feeling bold, he takes a jab at the other man, “You should take your own advice, _Lord Commander,”_ he remarks playfully. A shine in Aymeric’s eyes danced across them, eager to return the banter. “Forgive me; _Warrior of Light_ , that we’re so incapable of sharing our burdens with each other.”

The Warrior of Light slumps back in his seat, relieved that the conversation took to a less daunting direction, “There’s no rest for the righteous, after all.”

The Lord Commander shifts to more a lax position, nodding his head an agreement. A comforting silence washed between the two men. The Warrior basked in the familiarity of a dear friend and the warmth of the manor, content that he can just forget for a single moment. In the midst of his thoughts, he raises his hand, palm facing himself. The radiant light blaring from his own body only felt like moments ago. He quickly rests it on the seat of the couch again. He didn’t need to alarm Aymeric.

But Aymeric caught the movement anyway, their gazes never meeting, as he slowly inches his hand to the Warrior of Light. Lingering hesitance, forward conviction. The Warrior’s heart raced, what would happen if he closed the distance, what would happen if their hands even brushed the slightest, beyond the line of what would be platonic? The adventurer can't recall when he began to harbor such feelings for the former lord commander. He only knows that said affection ran deeper than the boundless lake near the Crystarium. His body answered instead, slightly positioning his hand to brush against the Elezen’s, still refusing to meet his gaze. Aymeric turns to him, eyes wide at the fact that the Warrior of Light _definitely_ returned the hint, yet he needed to ask of him one selfish thing. Mustering up the courage, the Warrior finally turns his head around to face the lord commander, eyes searching somewhere else. In a low, deep voice–that one could only hear if they were as close as them–Aymeric asks, “May I?” with that fond smile that the Warrior thinks that’s reserved just for him.

The Warrior’s heart swelled and rose to his throat, accompanied by its incessant beating, who simply nodded and offered his hand. With utmost care, Aymeric gently envelopes his hand over the adventurer’s. The gesture conveyed emotions, confessions beyond what words can express. Comfort. Contentment. Calmness.

Letting his hand go limp under the affectionate touch, the Warrior slightly shrinks into himself. His hands were scarred, marred, and calloused from battles and wars. It wouldn’t bring comfort to any soul who would think to intertwine their hands with his. Sensing the uneasiness, Aymeric’s grip on the adventurer’s hand had tightened soflty. The raven-haired Elezen then ghosted his thumb tenderly across the Warrior’s knuckles, as if in reassurance. As if in answer to their shared woes.


	3. oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last moment, before another adventure.
> 
> (Post-Heavensward, Pre-Stormblood, Ambiguous Warrior of Light, POV 3rd Person, kinda established relationship?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was originally gonna angst this but aymeric doesnt deserve that :( also i wrote this on my phone bc love finds a way!!! sorry for any mistakes and that its a bit on the shorter side

The unsightly Garlean stronghold of Baelsar's Wall amidst the lush greenery of Gridania was a scene the Warrior of Light occasionally passed by. They stood before it moons later, the dams of revolution ready to burst wide open. A friend lost, yet many saved. 

It was only a matter of time before they were swiftly whisked away to another battlefield, another journey with the Scions. Truly, there is no rest for the righteous. 

The meeting with the Eorzean Alliance in the Lotus Stand ajourned, plans underway to free Ala Mhigo from Garlemald's grasp. As they make their way to the exit, the Warrior of Light slowly trails after Alisaie and Alphinaud, their mind wandering beyond what took place. Upon arriving at Nophica's Altar, the Warrior sense a familiar presence behind them which was accompanied by a gentle tap on their shoulderblade. 

Heart soaring in their chest, they can't help but beam at Aymeric after they turn around. Of course, he returns the smile back, reminding them the time when he comments that their smile, albeit a rarity, is contagious. 

He blinks before clearing his throat, "Would you allow me to steal you away for a moment, my dear Warrior?" They nod, gesturing for Aymeric to take the lead.

The pair walk side by side to the tunnel that leads to Old Gridania. Aymeric halts at a good distance between both entryways; possibly away from prying eyes. The earthy scent of the tunnel overwhelms the Warrior's senses, though it was not horribly unpleasant.

Aymeric sighs in defeat and shifts to face the adventurer, "I admit that I had hoped to spend... more time with you after the Dragonsong War. Duty called for you then and it calls for you now," a sheepish smile forms on his face, "and I'd be a liar if I said I had not planned more outings beyond the dinner."

The Warrior of Light closes their eyes, the conversation at the dinner ringing in their head, as they recall their answer to Aymeric's question. A gentle confession is what it was, before fate deemed that there were more pressing matters. They open up their eyes and offer a soft smile to Aymeric, agreeing that their time spent together outside of war was too short. Slowly reaching for his hand with their own, they ask if he'd like for them to accompany him to the airship back to Ishgard. To which he replies with, "I'd like nothing more than that."

* * *

The Warrior of Light makes their way to the airship landing in Ishgard, after collecting their belongings from the Fortemps manor (with some stray items taking residence in Aymeric's quarters in the Borel manor). The Lord Commander was already there, likely to see them off. The shining stars in the night sky and the moon illuminated his face in such a way that the Warrior thinks he belonged in painting to be admired by many. When spotting the adventurer, he takes a few steps in their direction.

Though they wanted to say so many things to him, they simply cannot find the words. Instear, he breaks the silence, "Safe journey, my friend. I'll be waiting for you here to welcome you home," he nearly whispers, wanting no one but them to hear his voice. Any further gestures of affection would encourage rumors.

The Warrior of Light assures him by joking that they'll be back before he can say 'For the sky.' They attempt to take another step towards the airship landing's gate, though a hand wrapped around their wrist stops them.

They whip their head around, surprised by a slight flush on Aymeric's face, "For the sky. May I have another minute?" The adventurer laughs good-naturedly at his response as he eases his grip. The elezen reaches inside his pocket and procures a small, ornate box. It rests in the center of his palm and he moves his hand towards the Warrior, "For you." 

They were taken aback; a gift from the lord commander? Their eyes meet his when they gaze up at him in wonder. He nods to them in encouragment. The box was black, decorated with gold trim and stunning azure jewels. With utmost care, they lift the cover of the box, finding an earring with a jewel not unlike the one Aymeric wears.

The difference is that the jewel matches their eyes.

Aymeric's soothing voice pulls them out of their thoughts, "A parting gift to wear, if you will." They want nothing more than to wear it this very moment yet they admit that they fear it will go missing on their next adventure. Aymeric nods in understanding; the Warrior must not receive many gifts by their reaction.

The Warrior pulls him into an embrace, resting their hands on his lower back; his armor far from bothering them. Words from the adventurer were seldom and Aymeric learned that they tend to show their appreciation. As they pull away, they feel the warmth from Aymeric's face and see the adoration in his eyes. Not wanting to entitely remove themself from his arms, they lean in towards his face. They close the distance, gingerly placing a kiss on the corner of his lips.

The action was tender and heartwarming, nonetheless. The Warrior had hoped really, that he got the hint of something _more_ after their return.

Aymeric's pale blue eyes widen in shock, mouth agape. The adventurer elusively escapes from his arms and sprint towards the airship, waving farewell to him, a grin on their face that stretched a malm.

When the airship took off, Aymeric finally noticed the soreness in his arm from waving after them. The airship disappearing into the horizon, he lightly presses the tips of his fingers where the Warrior had placed their lips on his. 

He smiles to himself, the warmth blooming from the kiss never leaving his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aymeric voice i gave the wol a matching earring as a parting gift and they gave me a kiss in return it's like as if all my namedays have come at once
> 
> (or as i like to call it, a Catholic [Halonic] Kiss and Catholic [Halonic] Handholding)


	4. saccharin sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the warrior stumbles haggardly into Aymeric's personal quarters, he suggests a bath to ease their woes.
> 
> (Post-Heavensward, Gender Neutral WoL, Established Relationship, mentions of touch aversion from trauma, mild size difference, mild non-catholic touching and flirting i guess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any mistakes again! unbeta'd cuz this is purely for fun and i get inspired in the wee hours of the night/morgnign

Courting the Warrior of Light brought naught but surprises in contrast to Aymeric's arid days of work. Slowly, he had discovered the many facets of the person behind the title, for which he was grateful for. Though both of their duties had yielded them some days or weeks apart, hastily written (yet endearing) missives from the adventurer arrive at his desk. They lament how their words simply cannot describe the full beauty of the landscapes they've journeyed through. _Someday, perhaps_ , they promise to him--and a familiar one at that.

Aymeric pores over their last letter to him; written nearly a fortnight ago. Concern began to creep into the lord commander's mind. The adventurer _did_ inform him of their whereabouts in Idyllshire; he can't help but wonder about their safety. He was about to return to his pile of papers when he heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. A visitor at this time of night would be most questionable. As if Halone personally answered his prayers, the door to his personal quarters in his manor swings open. A distinct silhouette appears in the doorway, the figure heaving as if they've _sprinted_ across Coerthas. Aymeric–frozen in shock–could only watch from his desk as the Warrior of Light meanders to his sizeable bed, and promptly throws themself face-first onto the plush sheets.

"I beg forgiveness for my intrusion Aymeric but I... I just need a moment to close my eyes..." The warrior's muffled voice rings out as their breathing relaxes.

Refusing for shock to wholly take over him, he gathers himself and slowly pads over to them before kneeling down next to the bed. He gingerly runs his hand through their hair, noting how it lost its shine and how gaunt their attire and body are. Slowly exhaling, he gently comforts them. "How much I've missed you, too." A few moments pass before they turn their face towards his, half of it hidden by the bed sheets. Nothing can hide their warm smile however, and Aymeric eagerly returns it. His hand pauses as he notices the scratches and bruises on their arms; alarmed, he immediately stands up. "Have you not visited the chirugeons? Had something to eat?" His tone was more firm than he intended but he'd rather have them hale and whole first before their company.

In response, the warrior reflexively straightened up. Guilt momentarily flashed in the warrior's expression before they turn away. "The worst of it's gone, 'tis nothing to fret over." Pressing them for more details would cause them great discomfort. He reluctantly acquiesces. Not wanting them to stew in their disheveled garments, he suggests to them whilst folding his arms, "Perhaps after you bathe and dress your wounds, I would be slightly less fretful." They hum in agreement--rolling over to face away from him, refusing to make a movement that shows the slightest hint of doing their task. Aymeric chuckles to himself, the Warrior of Light was certainly stubborn not only in their conviction but also for their penchant to find the slightest moment of reprieve. Leaning over the edge of the bed (whilst trying to get peek at their face), Aymeric comments genially, "'Twould be recklessness on my part to allow my beloved guest to remain in such a state."

His tone seems to catch the adventurer's tone, as apparent by their quirked eyebrow when they roll over to face him again. "Oh? And what do you intend to do then?" they counter. Aymeric can hear the _smile_ in their voice.

"A proposal, if I may. I do recall promising that I shall refrain to hesitate when offering help--for _any_ task--should you ask of me."

Wordlessly, they sling one arm over their face (whether or not to hide their flushed face, Aymeric does not know) and they raise their other arm towards him, beckoning him. The elezen leans down again, smoothly hooking one arm under the small of their back and using his free arm to hook the underside of their knees. A peculiar quirk that Aymeric discovered was that the Warrior of Light did not argue against being carried bridal style (or princess style, they had called it out of embarrassment the first time). Of course, if the person who was carrying them was _him_.

Fatigue was ever a spectre that haunted the Warrior. They quickly rested their head on the crook of his neck, their arms folded towards their torso; eyes threatening to close.

* * *

It took a few short moments for Aymeric to run a bath for the adventurer. They initially gawked upon the sight of the master bathroom. It felt so clean, so comfortable, so serene with the elegant porcelain bathtub in the center of the room, framed by a large window with rich royal blue curtains. Warm orange lights cascaded across the walls. Using proper washroom facilities was a rarity for their duties throughout Eorzea led them to resort to remote freshwater streams or public washrooms if they were lucky enough to find an inn.

The Warrior of Light already kicked off their boots and chucked their gloves on top of the bath rug as Aymeric finished adjusting the valves of the tub to find a comfortable temperature. He turns to them, running his eyes down their garments, silently offering more help. After granting him permission with a nod, he slightly kneels down and begins to undo the clasp on their necklace, then their earrings, then their bracelets. He rests the accessories on top of a nearby vanity. Their breath hitches when his hands move to their garb, his hands masterfully navigating the fasteners. With precision and utmost care, he continues to then undo the laces of their long coat and the buttons of their undershirt, neatly resting the clothing on a stool. Just as he was about to reach for their belt, they exhale with a wry smile and remark, "Must be tedious work to care for the Champion of Light."

Their off-handed comment took him off guard. He shook his head. "Nay, it is not tedious work, if it is you." He replies, giving them a smile, at last undoing their belt before the warrior frees their legs from the trousers. Surprise quickly flashed on their face before they shoot a coy smile at him, "Never would have pinned for the lord commander to be such a sap."

Aymeric chuckles, "A trait which I take great pride in." It was surprisingly domestic yet intimate, undressing the adventurer with the intent to simply _care_ for them. Now with the last of their garments gone, they remain in only their smallclothes. They begin to idly fidget around a little, reminding Aymeric that they confessed to him that they harbor insecurities regarding the healed scars decorating their skin. To relieve them of their restlessness, he then reaches for the elastic of their smallclothes. He pauses, gazing up to meet their eyes, which were closed, but they mouth a silent _yes_ to him. He coaxes the elastic of the waistband and gently pulls them down, the adventurer shortly stepping out of the smallclothes. Both of them were no strangers to such a dance; the context was a bit different, a bit new, but it felt _good_.

The lord commander straightens up and offers his hand to provide support as they step into the tub. Without hesitation, they take his hand before sinking down into the tub. Allowing them a moment of peace, Aymeric was about to release his grip when he feels a curt tug on his sleeve and finds the Warrior of Light's gaze aimed at him, another request hidden in their burning eyes.

His responsibilities endlessly nag at the back of his mind. Yet he finds himself mentally shoving the papers off his desk.

He would call himself a fool to deny such a request.

* * *

A moment like this was seldom and it urges Aymeric to hope that it would last forever. At the adventurer's behest, he joins them in the bathtub after stripping down his own vestments, catching their wandering eyes on his figure from time to time. He noticed their forlorn eyes when they saw the gnarly scar across his the right side of his torso. Presently, they lean back on his bare chest, their head resting under his chin. His arms loosely draped around their abdomen, running one of his thumbs across the side of their waist. The warm water combined with the warrior’s body heat was utterly divine, save for the stray droplets cooling his skin. Minutes later, he was lathering their body with a soapy sponge, bath gel scented with lavender. He took great care in considerately gliding the sponge over their more recent scars, watching for any signs of discomfort from them. How long had they gone without a tender touch out of love and care rather than one out of malice? His mind wanders to the dawn of their courtship when physical affection was very new to the adventurer; they flinched once when Aymeric opened his arms in an embrace. Moons had passed by the time the warrior eagerly initiated the gesture. It was progress and growth and he could feel his heart beat with pride. Until, he felt a droplets of water splash on his face. He blinks, dazed, and sees the adventurer in front of him, body facing his. The adventurer wore a smirk with irrefutable confidence.

“A coin for your thoughts, Aym? I’ve been attempting to catch your attention forever.” They look at him quizzically.

He lightly flicks water towards the warrior in mock retaliation, almost reeling in their feigned shock. “Momentarily reflecting, my dear. Rarely does respite avert my mind from wandering astray.”

The Warrior of Light ever brings their body closer to his, shifting to rest on their knees to straddle his legs–increasing the amount of contact, “How about I help you from wracking your wonderful mind?” They don’t bother hiding their coquettish tone as they enwrap their arms around his neck, nails gently biting his nape. Their eyes were half-lidded and darkened; Aymeric wanted to drown in them. In return, he pointedly runs a hand up their thigh, toward their waist, noting how his hand nearly spanned the _entirety_ of their hip. They gasp ere bringing their face closer to his. “Encouraging such flirtation,” they breathily answer to his gesture, “might ruin the point of this bath, _Aymeric.”_

Aymeric lightly digs his fingers into their hip. “And if I continue this encouragement?” he responds; sultry tone betraying his words. Desire and passion roared in his veins, and he's sure that they feel the same. An enkindled flame settled in his abdomen.

The warrior plants a rather cheeky yet chaste kiss on the corner of his lips, “Let’s get on with it, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much thanks for reading! still in the process of setting up my xiv twitter (trheads....... pinned tweet and whatnot), but i am seeking mutuals @tripiecast so i'll be following back!!! (i'll be checking in the morning cuz it's 1:42 am as i am typing this LOL)
> 
> starlight celebration themed drabble next! and giving then giving the president of ishgard a beej (male wol tho) is after because i am truly, absolutely, at my limit with this man. save room for halone tho,,, this is a bit weird if your WoL isn't one of the shorter races, i apologize, because i live for the 14 inch difference between aymeric and my wol let's be Real
> 
> (also will be planning to do a table of contents............ soon-ish)


	5. as long as it's just you and i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light wakes up in the aftermath of the Ghimlyt Dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've pretty much given up on the theme of this ficlet series (thus i yeeted the table of contets) and settled on song lyrics for titles let's GOOOOOOOOOOo and totally not inspired by a tweet about a certain trope. definitely a bit more somber/bittersweet but you can totally read this as established relationship or not.
> 
> pov second person, gender-neutral warrior of light. unbeta'd cuz it's 3:35am as of writing this

Another numb, dreamless sleep. Not like it’s any different from the usual.

To you, at least.

Pain pricks and blooms under your skin, almost as if it’s running from your fingertips to your toes, as you will your body to pull free from unconsciousness. No matter how hard you tried, you remained in the cold darkness. You willed any of your limbs–hells, even your eyelids, to move–only to be met with a phantom sensation. It seemed as if your mind’s connection has been severed from your body. Perhaps, your mortality has finally caught up with you, you grimly surmise. Your end at the hand of a possessed Garlean prince’s walking corpse was a card that you never expected fate to play.

You groan under your breath as your eyelids finally responded to your mind, hastily blinking away the the blurriness. A rather familiar off-white ceiling with dark wooden trim greeted you. It’s been a while since you’ve been here, hasn’t it? An oddly poetic way (and place) to ponder about your mortality.

The pain thrumming through your veins will not be alleviated by sudden movement. So, you opt to twist your head to scan your surroundings. It remained relatively the same, save for an elezen chirugeon a few feet away from you. The clink of bottles, shuffling of papers, cloth and metal tools broke the deafening silence.

She spoke in a firm, yet low voice. “Finally awake? Do try your best to refrain from moving. Not only your bandages have been recently replaced, but you wouldn’t want to disturb your visitor as well.”

A visitor? Who would want to see a bruised symbol of hope such as you?

You slowly straighten up, hissing as the needle-like pain shot down your spine. You would’ve flinched, if it weren’t for the sleeping figure with familiar raven-black hair at the foot of your infirmary bed. Instead, your limbs freeze in place. Curiously turning to the chirugeon, you tilt your head in question. Thankfully, she understood your silent gesture.

Offering a warm smile, she answers gently, “Ah, you’ve been out for nearly half a day. They brought you in during the dead of night–I’ve never seen him in such a state of distress. Barking orders left and right, he was!”

Fixing your gaze on the sleeping Elezen before you, you can’t help but feel disappointed that you missed a stricken, panicked Lord Commander. His composure was never iron-willed when you were around, anyway. You smile to yourself as you idly observe him. He sat in a rickety, old chair, while laying his head on top of his arms across the end of the bed. His face was hidden from view. If he were to slowly wake now, he might not have the chance to see you up yet.

The chirugeon’s voice freed you from your reverie, “Ser Lucia and Ser Handeloup urged him to get some rest somewhere at least comfortable and practical, yet he _insisted_ staying by your side until you wake up.”

Feeling a flush crawling down your neck, you wonder: why would he go through such lengths to see you awake?

She collects the last of her papers and turns to you, sea green eyes shining distinctly. “I’ll return in a few bells to administer healing salves for your wounds if need be. Do not hesitate to call for assistance.” You nod gratefully in return with a smile. Returning your gesture, she nods in reply. With a few quick strides to the door, she then slowly shuts it with a soft click.

Gingerly turning your head again towards your visitor. You debate on whether or not you should return to sleep or feign sleep just to see what he would do. But, something tugging at your chest says to do otherwise. Slowly, but surely, you raise a hand and gently place it on his upper arm, lightly shaking it.

“Aymeric.” You call out to him, unable to stop your lips from forming a smile.

He stirs at your touch before his breaths start becoming uneven. He languidly raises his head, eyes blurry from sleep. His hair looked a bit unkempt, eyes nearly dark and skin pale from exhaustion. When his eyes fall on you, it was a reaction you’ve never expected. Aymeric almost immediately lit up, a fading flame rekindled into a warm fire. His eyes shined with unbridled relief, joy, and _something_ else you can’t quite name.

His voice wavered from joy. “You’re awake! Thank heavens!”

Raising his arms to embrace you, he stops himself after realizing that your arms and torso are still very much wrapped in bandages. He withdraws slightly, yet joy was very much still plain on his face.

You can’t help but grin from his infectious smile and elation, yet a small worry gnaws at the back of your mind. “Are you okay?”

Unexpectedly, his face fell, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “You’ve been through the seven hells and back–and yet you ask how _I_ am doing?” His tone was firm, almost as if he intended to scold you.

You didn’t anticipate such a reply, almost shrinking and staying silent under his gaze. However, you know full well it was not out of malice. His eyes turn soft in reverence and compassion.

“You truly are amazing.”

With how fast your heart is racing in your chest, you’re surprised at how Aymeric himself didn’t hear it. The knot twisting in your stomach did very little to calm you down. Such praise is normal to you after hearing it so many times from forgotten faces and names. From him, it felt _different._ And not in a bad way, either, you think.

You shake your head out of bashfulness, “The chirugeon kindly told me of your… measures when I was unconscious. Surely, resting your head at the foot of an infirmary bed must be far from comfortable.”

It may be a trick of the light, but his face was slightly dusted with a flush, fingers nervously picking at the bed sheet. He takes a few moments to collect himself. His gaze swung left and right, unable to focus on you. Prying a retort from him wouldn’t yield much results.

Perhaps now would be the best time to express your appreciation, you muse as you remember his attempt to catch you in an embrace.

Your muscles, limbs, and nerves protested when you shift closer to him. Every ilm of your being ached and stung, but you bear through it as you swing your arms around his neck and rest your head on his chest. Gasping in surprise, he freezes–arms raised in fear of disturbing your bandages. He calls out your name in astonishment. The warrior of light giving the Lord Commander a rather hasty hug would be a comical sight to some (and your peers).

Some might argue that it’s crossing a line.

Despite his ornamental armor, you can hear his hummingbird heart beat in his chest. It was chaotic, unsteady, unpredictable. Yet, it reminded you that he is alive. And _you_ are alive in this very moment. Once the confusion melted away, you feel a pair of strong arms settle on your back. To be held, to feel his touch, to be _wanted–_ it made you wish that this moment can last forever. You can scarcely remember being held like this, out of affection. All you can recall is cold, lifeless steel swinging towards you.

Tears threatened to prick your eyes, but you held fast with a shaky breath. “Thank you,” you murmur into his chest, from the bottom of your heart. Nay, maybe from your soul.

Aymeric buries his face in the crook of your neck, the warmth racing across your skin. You cannot read his expression now, of course. When his voice comes out unsteady, it makes your heart sink into your chest.

“May I ask to be selfish just this once?” His voice was barely above a whisper–not even a wandering specter can catch it.

You nod into his chest, unable to fathom just what he would ask of you.

What felt like a lifetime had passed until he spoke once more, “Don’t scare me like that again,” he breathes, “please.”

For one moment, you wish that you can tell him a thousand times over that you won’t brush with death ever again. But _you_ are the warrior of light, and _your_ death will be inevitable. Asking to stop your constant challenges with mortality is not possible. Such thoughts will get you nowhere, you think. So instead, you will stay alive. You vow to defy whatever cards fate will play for you. For everyone. For Eorzea.

For him.

A smile graces your lips when you reply, feeling the beat of your heart dance alongside his.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know with 5.3 on the horizon and ishgard restoration update in the 5.31 patch, i'm hoping mr. birch syrup actually appears in the new cutscenes .
> 
> if you want more elezen thirstposting, i do have a [tweeter!](https://twitter.com/tripIecast) ! would love for more moots and meet people to play with ♥♥


	6. your special somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric earns a short break in the midst of all his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first ficlet where the wol isn't ambiguous! since im working on my wol's backstory i cant help but do this haha.
> 
> (mostly) written during a praetorium run at 1am and to window by CRJ. i'm full of poor decisions

Stray visitors to Aymeric’s office no longer surprise him. Since the start of the restoration of the Firmament (and his induction as the Lord Speaker), his work had multiplied nigh ten-fold. As he mindlessly pores over more documents, treaties, and what-have-you, he hears a familiar knock on his door. For just a second, he felt his heart leap.

Without waiting for an answer, the visitor swung open the door. It was the Warrior of Light.

After the adventurer hastily shut the door behind himself, he offers Aymeric a wordless, warm smile. The Lord Commander eagerly returns the gesture with a smile of his own. He would have greeted Xavrien with an affectionate, cheeky comment until he spotted what the warrior had grasped between his hands.

A rather considerably heavy stack of papers.

Aymeric nervously eyes the seemingly countless pile of documents, “I love you, Rien.”

“I hope I’m not interr–I–huh?” Xavrien pauses at the door, leveling Aymeric with a narrowed gaze. The adventurer shakes his head before sauntering towards and behind Aymeric’s desk. A sly smirk graces his lips, “Saying ‘I love you’ won’t get you out of doing more paper work from the Firmament.” He accentuates his point by softly shoving the papers on the desk with a _thud_. The sound nearly stung Aymeric’s ears.

“I’d much rather go on some faraway adventure or tryst with you,” Aymeric sighs whilst shaking his head.

Xavrien inches himself closer towards Aymeric, close enough that their faces nearly brush. “Trust me, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to bring you with me.” He slowly brings his arm behind Aymeric’s neck, gloved hand slightly brushing the nape of the other elezen’s neck. Aymeric responds in kind, gently slinging his arm on Xavrien’s waist–appreciating the closeness and warmth. Intrigue flits accross the adventurer’s eyes; enthusiastically accepting the invitation.

Xavrien languidly settles on Aymeric’s lap. Comfort cannot be afforded in such a _precarious_ position and in a _stone_ chair, but it did little to assuage the kindling flame. Gently carding his fingers through Aymeric’s hair, Xavrien calmly assures him, “Our duties may keep as apart for some time…” he pauses to place an unhurried kiss on the corner of Aymeric’s mouth. His mouth trails over Aymeric’s jawline, earning a shiver from the other man. Resolve melting away, Aymeric tightens his grip on Xavrien’s waist with both hands.

The adventurer’s mouth reaches Aymeric’s ear, his breath nearly burning against the skin and ear cuff. With a haughty, low whisper, Xavrien continues. “But I’ll always find my way back home–back to you.”

Heat bloomed from Aymeric’s face to his chest (and to other limbs and parts) at the adventurer’s ministrations. “Ugh, if we only had all the time in the world…” Aymeric groans, his blush reaching his ears.

Xavrien brings his face closer while closing his eyes, his lips barely brushing against Aymeric’s. “Then let’s selfishly steal a bit of time?”

Aymeric carelessly closes the distance; crashing their lips together. The warrior laughs breathlessly against Aymeric’s lips. The lord commander curiously entangles his hand into Xavrien’s deep-blue locks, eliciting a soft groan. He offers an experimental tug, relishing in Xavrien’s encouraging whimper. The kiss was both hurried and tender, teeth occasionally clacking in recklessness. The slow, smoldering glide of their lips against one another–the utter closeness–Aymeric closes his eyes from such decadence. After what felt like hours, Xavrien pulls away, deeply gasping for air. Missing the warmth, Aymeric wildly chases Xavrien’s mouth.

Embarrassed, his eyes flew open. He’s greeted by the warrior’s thoughtful gaze. Xavrien good-naturedly chuckles at him, stroking Aymeric’s cheek with a thumb. Affection glimmered in the adventurer’s eyes. Yet, it was paired with a dejected tone. “As much as I hate prying myself from you, it’s time for me to take my leave.”

Aymeric’s grip relaxes, accompanied by Xavrien’s withdrawal. The adventurer removes himself from Aymeric’s lap, the lingering heat finally dissipating from the air. He bashfully looks up at Xavrien, “For how long will you remain in Ishgard?”

Straightening his coat, Xavrien pauses; eyebrows knitted in thought. “A day–day and a half, maybe. Promised to do some errands for the Firmament’s restoration. And a dragon. Got business to attend to in Othard as well…” he trails off.

At least he has _some_ amount of hours left with the Warrior of Light, Aymeric silently celebrates. “Shall I see you back at my manor?”

With a playful wave and snicker, Xavrien makes his way to the door. “If you arrive in the dead of night–after me—I can assure a sleepless night for you.” He offers a wink, before shutting Aymeric’s office door behind him.

Aymeric slouches, tension leaving his shoulders. A glimmer of satisfaction swells in his chest at the warrior’s _offer._ He would’ve been content on relaxing for a few more moments, until he spies the dastardly stack of papers in his view. Immediately, he felt his spirit wither away for just a second.

“Damn it.”


	7. aurum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light has always wondered about Aymeric's ear cuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something definitely shorter than yesterday's; just wanted to write out something tbqh. not beta'd it's 1am once again

The Warrior of Light has befell many a great enemy. From primals to lightwardens and to Ascians–it seemed like there was no insurmountable foe.

Unless such a foe was “impulse.”

Xavrien didn’t _intend_ to do it. It was through pure _coincidence_ that he woke up before Aymeric, spotted the ear clasp on the porcelain jewelry dish lying on the vanity. It was entirely _incidental_ that he padded over to the vanity and attempted to try it on. The clasp was a snug and loose fit in several places on his left ear, yet the black and gold metalwork was sturdy and lightweight. The glistening ice-blue jewel never looked dull in the light of day.

The adventurer admires the cuff in front of the mirror. While it did clash with his usual sense of fashion, it was undeniable that the clasp was intricate and beautiful.

Xavrien hears a tired, groggy voice several feet behind him. “Is that mine?”

Heart dropping, the warrior doesn’t turn around, and instead glances to the far side of the mirror–finding Aymeric’s sitting figure on the bed. With a cat-like stretch, the lord commander glances at the mirror, his eyes meeting Xavrien’s.

Stunned, Xavrien fishes for an excuse, eyes darting to and fro across the mirror. “Was curious. Couldn’t resist.”

Aymeric chuckles before making his way towards Xavrien. He casually cards through his tussled raven-black hair; adjusting his sleep robe with his other hand. Slowly, delicately, he presses himself behind Xavrien, draping his arms around the other Elezen’s waist. Burying his face against the adventurer’s ear, he grins. “No, don’t fret. You do look rather dashing with it.”

The sight of them, both in front of the mirror, seemed a bit too surreal to Xavrien. He leans back into Aymeric’s touch before playfully rolling his eyes. “Flatterer.”

Amusement flits across Aymeric’s face. “Is it flattery if it’s true?”

Xavrien places a hasty, coy peck on Aymeric’s jaw. “Your _sweetened_ words won’t work on me, Lord Commander. The gem plainly doesn’t match me.” He points at his own ruby-red irises. 

Aymeric pries himself away from the adventurer, touch just lingering for a few seconds. Reaching up towards the cuff, he gingerly traces the metalwork with his fingers. “I could get a matching one commissioned just for you,” he offers.

The adventurer shakes his head. “I think it’s too one-of-a-kind to be replicated like that. ‘Twould be an interesting way to display your claim to my hand,” Xavrien teases.

Tilting his head in interest, Aymeric replies, “How successful would I be in persuading you to wear the blue of House Borel in its stead?” His tone was coquettish, laced with curiosity.

Xavrien raises an arm, slowly ghosting his splayed hand across Aymeric’s barely-clothed chest. “Maybe a considerable amount of _delicate_ persuasion is in order,” he invites with a haughty, low timbre.


	8. déjà vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric is woefully unaware of why the Warrior of Light was eager to take him to Idyllshire. 
> 
> (Post-Shadowbringers, Named Male WoL, Established Relationship, lots of goofing and gaffing on aymeric, banter?)
> 
> [No spoilers]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't believe circle enix delivered on the sand fox = aymeric meme. i would d*e for the minion 
> 
> unbeta'd, i wrote this right after i woke up

If Aymeric knew any better, he would spend any well-deserved day off at home to rest. 

At this point, he would rather be anywhere but in the proximity of his office; hells, even Ishgard. When a particular adventurer suggested a leisurely little trip to the Dravanian Hinterlands, he couldn’t find it in himself to turn down such an offer. With an impish smile, the Warrior of Light appeared, perhaps, too excited at his acceptance. 

_“I have quick business to deal with in Idyllshire, but there was someone I wanted you to meet, anyway.”_

He had pondered the identity of whoever Xavrien wanted him to meet—a friend? A relative? A person of considerable influence? Aymeric’s musings (and bewilderment at the sights) lead to a rather silent flight atop of the adventurer’s draught chocobo, yet he caught occasional, benevolent glances from Xavrien. Once they landed in Idyllshire, Aymeric took a moment to admire the scenery. It was quaint and felt homey—despite being a repurposed dwelling among the abandoned city of Sharlayan scholars. 

Dismounting from the chocobo, the Warrior of Light beckons him forward, motioning slightly past the central building. “Just this way, won’t take too long. What’re your thoughts?”

Following Xavrien, he takes a second to collect his words. “The atmosphere feels quite peaceful,” he comments, noting the adventurers, goblins, and vendors alike scattered about the area. Pleasant chatter danced along the gentle, cool breeze.

“Ah, definitely can’t disagree with that, there’s a little plaza I swing by once in a while to clear my head,” the adventurer replies kindly. Their path takes them to the leftmost side of the building, Aymeric quickly spotting two wooden, ornately decorated stalls. Taking up the stairs to the second level, he is greeted by an enthusiastic, young voice.

“Mister, Xavrien! Are you here to give Khloe the journal?”

The voice came from a young Miqo’te, who was eagerly waving towards the both of them. With a hearty chuckle, Xavrien pulls out a well-loved, leather-bound journal tucked under his arm. “Sure am, kiddo! Here you go!” 

Khloe beams up at him, before offering Aymeric the same smile. “Did Mister Xavrien bring a friend with him?”

The adventurer nods solemnly, “For a little sightseeing.”

“Any friend of Mister Xavrien is my friend!”

As the warrior carries on his conversation with Khloe, Aymeric can’t help but notice a little figure in the corner of his vision, atop Khloe’s wooden stall.  It was a fox. A sandy, small one at that.

Said fox was wearing an incredibly haughty expression, almost as still as a statue. It looked so life-like, but it remained unmoving. Undisturbed. Was it a plush toy like the others in Khloe’s stall?

Then it blinked.

If Aymeric wasn’t a man whose composure was of tempered steel, he would’ve leapt right out of skin. 

Xavrien must have observed his impolite gawking. A devilish grin graces the adventurer’s lips, “Oh, I see you’ve met Commander.”

“My apologies, who?” Aymeric managed with a spinning head.

The sand fox shakes its head in discontent, “Might I kindly remind you, adventurer, that my name is Sotan?”

_By Halone, it speaks?!_

Sotan remained far from entertained or amused at Aymeric’s reaction. “Here I hoped that I had met at least one individual with wit.”

Khloe’s voice pulled Aymeric from his thoughts, “Miss Rowena named him Commander! I do think it’s a bit weird though…”

Steeling his will, Aymeric begins to intently observe the sand fox. Its expression was frustratingly unreadable, yet he cannot deny feeling a crawling sensation of being intensely _judged._ Were its eyes half-lidded in boredom? If foxes can frown, then it was the clear-cut example of it. A regal, noble air seemed to surround Sotan. Why would it be named Commander…?

Realization dawned upon the Lord Commander.

He turns to Xavrien, voice nearly strained in disbelief. “Do I… really look like that?”

Xavrien raises an arm, chin tucked between his index finger and thumb. For a few seconds, the adventurer appeared to be deep in thought. His eyebrows were knitted, but his lips quivered and pursed slightly. 

“No.”

Aymeric hears an accompanying _snrrk_ with the adventurer’s reply. He’s not sure if he buys Xavrien’s answer.

He levels the fox with a narrowed gaze of his own, for just a few more moments. Finally, he pries away his eyes. 

“I don’t see the resemblance.”

Sotan shakes, fluffing out its fur. “Neither do I.” Turning its comically sized head to Xavrien, the fox questions the adventurer, annoyance laced in its voice. “If you’re both here, the vaunted adventurer and my peculiar namesake, then surely you must have another story to tell me?”

Xavrien stops snickering almost instantly. He remains silent.

With a small voice, he responds, voice trailing off. “So, wanna hear about the time I fished up a Gugrusaurus?”

Sotan’s gaze remained uninterested, _unchanging,_ yet Aymeric felt an underlying aura of unadulterated ire. He feels his skin crawl.

Hastily pulling the warrior’s arm, he urges, “I wholeheartedly appreciate our conversation, but I believe it’s time to take our leave.”  He doesn’t feel Xavrien resist, but he does hear the adventurer’s facetious quip. 

“It was 536.3 ilms!” 

By the time Xavrien said the last word, they were already at the bottom of the stairs. Khloe was waving them off.

“See you next week, Mister Xavrien! Nice to meet you, Mister Xavrien’s friend!”

Once they were out of earshot and near the adventurer’s draught chocobo, Aymeric felt his shoulders relax. He discerns Xavrien’s concerned expression. Xavrien offers an apologetic smile, “Was that joke too much?”

Aymeric shakes his head. “No, not at all. To be frank, I am far more bewildered and amazed than offended.” Meeting a fox that supposedly looked like him was one thing, but the fact that it talked? Aymeric felt like he’s missing out on too much from the wider world. “Sotan is an interesting creature.”

Laughing good-naturedly, Xavrien mounts the chocobo, offering a hand to Aymeric. “Don’t disagree at all. In all fairness, I have seen plenty of talking animals—they’re called auspices.”

Aymeric nearly stumbled, gratefully accepting the adventurer’s hand and help to get on the chocobo saddle. His eyes widened in surprise, “You mean to tell me that there’s _more_ of them?”

Xavrien smirks at him, planting a playful peck on his cheek. “A trip to the Ruby Sea might be long overdue.”


	9. crystal bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light cuts his own hair. Aymeric happened to be there.
> 
> (Post-Shadowbringers 5.3 MSQ, Named Male WoL, Established Relationship)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something a bit goofy, once again written at 12am during and after a praetorium run yeehaw

Waking up at the break of dawn was a common occurrence for Aymeric. Unless, his occasional bed partner (who often woke up hours later) promptly left one side empty–and is presumably missing.

Aymeric stifles a yawn as he pads along the hallway; noticing rays of light peeking through the unclosed door. At least the Warrior of Light’s whereabouts were not a mystery. Slowly, carefully, he reaches for the doorknob and swings the door open. In front of the vanity, he spots his quarry. The adventurer was leaned over the bathroom mirror, balancing one arm on the edge of the counter. The other hand ran through his hair relentlessly.

The adventurer didn’t seem to notice Aymeric.

Cracking a smile, Aymeric calls out to him. “You’re awake early—it’s almost seven in the morning.”

Aymeric had expected Xavrien to whip his head around with a sleepy ‘Huh?’ but was instead met with more silence. He makes his way towards the warrior, footsteps cutting through the stiff silence. When Xavrien finally catches Aymeric’s figure in the mirror, the adventurer twists his head around to greet Aymeric.

“I think my hair is getting too long,” Xavrien laments, before turning back to the mirror. A slight frown was etched on his face. He kept combing his fingers into his hair.

Tilting his head thoughtfully, Aymeric realizes the Xavrien’s hair was considerably longer after the Ghimlyt Dark. A few locks had turned white. He takes a step back before folding his arms against his chest. “Would you like me to call for an aesthetician?”

If Aymeric wasn’t paying attention, he would’ve missed a glimmer of mischief in the adventurer’s eyes. Without turning to face him, Xavrien pulls a pair of hair shears—seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Alarmed, Aymeric reaches out to grasp Xavrien’s wrist. “Are you so sure?” He questions, tone firm. His sudden movement startled the adventurer, who nearly drops the scissors. Impulse was far from a best friend to Xavrien.

Xavrien relaxes his wrist, arm going limp in Aymeric’s hold. “It’s juuuuust a bit. Not like I’ll end up bald or something,” he replies flippantly. He raises the scissors against his bangs, slightly gauging the white locks. Eyebrows furrowed and lips tight–Aymeric was confident that Xavrien was _confident in_ cutting his own hair.

Letting go of the adventurer’s wrist, Aymeric instead rests his hand against Xavrien’s forearm. Concern pooled in his chest. “Is the white bothering you?” The adventurer looked surprised at his honest question; arms dropping to rest on the edge of the washbasin. Xavrien’s voice wavered, unsure in his own words.

“A little bit. I didn’t care for it much when it first appeared, but now… it’s bugging me.”

Aymeric’s eyes widened in disbelief. “It wasn’t by choice?”

Xavrien looks the other way, hiding his expression from Aymeric. “No–it’s a reminder of what happened. What _could_ have happened.”

Squeezing the adventurer’s arm reassuringly, Aymeric offers with a gentle voice. “You can tell me anything.”

Xavrien turns to him with a small smile, “I can and I will,” he responds before pausing, “I’m not ready yet. I’m struggling to comprehend with the enormity of it all.” Suddenly, his expression steels in concentration. Aymeric opens his mouth to comfort him, but promptly shuts it when Xavrien speaks before he could.

“Plus… I look old,” Xavrien says flatly, gaze boring into his reflection, mostly at the white strands.

Aymeric sputters in bewilderment at the sudden change of mood. “If I’m five years your senior, what does that make me?”

Xavrien doesn’t reply at first, scissors now encompassing a white lock of hair. Aymeric didn’t even notice that the adventurer had raised the hair shears once more, towards his bangs. Xavrien rolls his eyes playfully before focusing his eyes on Aymeric. “The difference is that you don’t look a day past twenty.” With a pointed emphasis on _twenty_ , Xavrien flexes his hand.

_Snip!_

Xavrien watches the white hairs fall to the ground, just until it was out of his vision. Aymeric does the same.

“Ah, shit,” Xavrien curses.

“Such is life,” Aymeric comments simultaneously.

Both of them didn’t look away from the strands of hair on the bathroom floor. With a defeated shrug, Xavrien continues, “Well, too late to turn back.” Aymeric stares at him, every _snip_ of the scissors seemingly tearing through the air. He needs to say something—anything—but Xavrien clearly intends to see it through. A few times, Aymeric finds his hand twitching towards Xavrien’s shoulder before pulling back. It took only maybe four, five minutes before Xavrien lowered the scissors.

Aymeric couldn’t read Xavrien’s expression. Sighing, the adventurer places the scissors on the counter with a loud _clink._ He cards one hand absently through his now noticeably asymmetrical shorter hair.

Aymeric was the first to break the silence, “It’s an unconventional style, but it does suit you.”

Xavrien laughs heartily at Aymeric’s remark, “Suit me? As in ‘a total mess?’ Think I’ll miss the weight more than anything.” Instead of replying, Aymeric reaches for the adventurer’s face, tenderly cupping Xavrien’s cheek before tracing his jawline. He curiously runs his fingers towards the nape of Xavrien’s neck, before combing them through the deep-blue locks. Xavrien leans into his touch, eyes closed in contentment. The adventurer murmurs a bashful ‘thank you.’

He would’ve continued his affection ministrations, had he not noticed the minuscule pile of hair collecting on the edge of the white, porcelain sink. The strands were no longer white and returned back to normal. Xavrien noticed his confusion, eyes following Aymeric’s gaze. Aymeric swallowed nervously, stealing a glance at the adventurer. Xavrien’s eyes were half-lidded in disbelief and fatigue; eyebrows flat and lips thinned in displeasure.

The adventurer spoke what was on the both of their minds. “Maybe I should’ve just dyed ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've got a few more ambig wol/aymeric prompts written down, im just in wol loving hours mode. mostly inspired by the saintly style hair? the asymmetry is very similar to the catboy pvp hair, so it pretty much looks like a shorter version of it. however i CANNOT visually parse the saintly style hair enough for me to draw it why was it the first thing i got 
> 
> for poor memes and lotsa screaming, follow me on twitter [@tripiecast !](https://twitter.com/tripIecast)


	10. enkindle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric tries on a suit in preparation for a party; whether or not the Warrior of Light's assistance was ever necessary, he doesn't know.
> 
> [Vaguely post-Shadowbringers, Established Relatinship, Named Male WoL, Implied Sexual Content]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something spicy, not enough to change it to E but it's definitely slightly beyond T i guess? unbeta'd bc i was writing this instead of doing work
> 
> forgive any typos, misspelled words since english isn't my first language \o/
> 
> 9/24 edit: formatting to look less of a headache on mobile, changed some words around

Despite being raised in a home of nobility, Aymeric had always preferred a more humble lifestyle. Luxury simply was not in the forefront of his mind. Yet, his inclination for simplicity did little to temper the sheer amount of invitations to parties thrown by the highborn of Ishgard. Political parties in guise as a lofty celebration.

He can picture it now; the socialites, nobles, and highborns indulging in wealth as Ishgard and her common people suffered from their wounds from the Dragonsong War.

Not long after the Warrior of Light’s triumph over Nidhogg on the Steps of Faith was he invited to such a party. The nobleman claims that it was a celebration of a new future for Ishgard and as ‘a way for the representatives of the House of Lords and the House of Commons to acquaint with one another.’

Somehow, he feels as if there’s another incentive hidden between the lines of the invitation.

“I don’t know how you managed it, but you’re even more handsome.”

The Warrior of Light’s voice yanks Aymeric from his thoughts. He blinks wildly, struggling to remember the current task at hand. Right—he was getting his suit fitted for the party, with the adventurer’s assistance. Smiling at the warrior, Aymeric jokes, “I have been told that my face adds much to my role as a ‘charismatic politician.’”

Xavrien scoffs before playfully rolling his eyes. He pulls his hands away after adjusting Aymeric’s high suit collar. “I can imagine it now—a bunch of lords and ladies flocking to you, persistently asking for a dance or whispering some kinda flirty throwaway comment.”

He dramatically clasps his hands together, voice in a sarcastic falsetto. “Oh, my _beloved_ lord commander _Ser Aymeric!_ I would be _deeply_ honored to have a dance with you!” He punctuates his theatrics with a flourish.

“Perhaps, such a scenario would be avoided if I brought a guest with me?” Aymeric offers with a low tone, one arm slinking around the adventurer’s waist. A faint flush appears across Xavrien’s face, which betrayed his impish antics. Xavrien runs a hand down Aymeric’s chest, fingers trailing the rich blue lapels—eyes intently staring into Aymeric’s own ice-blue eyes.

Xavrien’s touch felt like a kindling, comforting fire against his skin despite the layers of exquisite cloth. The adventurer pulls his hand away with a flick of a wrist.

“Fat chance! Rather fight another horrific shade of Nidhogg than attend a gathering with more than twenty people in one area.” Amusement flicks across Xavrien’s eyes. “But if if it’s for you, I don’t think I’ll mind too much…” He trails off, pretending to appear deep in thought, fingers stroking his chin.

By now, Aymeric was used to Xavrien’s light-hearted stubbornness and he was well–equipped to counter it. Pulling the other elezen closer, he murmurs, “Maybe I could order you as lord _commander_ than ask politely.” He catches Xavrien’s sharp, brief inhale—the blush on the warrior’s face just a bit more prominent.

He can distantly hear Xavrien mutter under his breath, _“Playing this game are we?_ ”

The adventurer steels his gaze, but the blush on his mien never falters. Pretending to pick at the fabric of Aymeric’s suit, he changes the subject. “Turn around for me, will you?”

Aymeric hums in agreement, making sure to linger his hand on Xavrien’s hip for just a little longer before pulling himself away. For a brief moment, he steals a glance at the adventurer’s face. Xavrien’s eyebrows were furrowed, lips taut. It was plain that Aymeric’s ribbing was working. Satisfied, Aymeric turns around, facing away from the adventurer.

A persistent, experienced hand skirts across his back before it rested on his waist—straightening out the crinkles and unsightly folds. The fabric was cinched there, likely to give the flowing tailcoat its shape. He could faintly hear the warrior’s uneven breathing.

“Turn back again?” Xavrien asks, voice slightly wavering.

Aymeric turns around to face the adventurer, spying a spark of mischief in Xavrien’s ruby-red eye. He would’ve thanked him for the assistance, but choked on his own words when he feels a hand on his hip once more. Xavrien’s grip was tight, and it slowly trailed down, thumb digging at the junction of where Aymeric’s upper thigh met his pelvis.

In spite of the fabric, the adventurer’s touch felt like a blazing fire. Xavrien slowly sinks to his knees, face falling short of Aymeric’s waistband, as he bores his gaze onto Aymeric’s face.

The adventurer’s darkened eyes betrayed naught but a single intent. Aymeric swallowed thickly.

Xavrien’s short, hot puffs of breath near Aymeric’s zipper added fuel to the fire. The adventurer’s hand traced the contours of Aymeric’s trousers, before slightly hooking a finger into a belt loop closest to the front. Xavrien smiled innocently, “Such masterful craftsmanship.” His tone was gritty and suggestive, and it damn-near ripped Aymeric free of his own wits.

But Aymeric wasn’t going to falter so easily.

Bracing his resolve, Aymeric remarks, “’Twould be a shame if such craftsmanship would be sullied in a particular manner.” His own voice came out rough and firm; trying to emulate his ‘lord commander tone’ that the adventurer admired so much.

Xavrien inhales sharply once more, this time significantly more audible. “Then let’s get you out of ‘em.”

Aymeric nods in agreement, almost chuckling to himself at how fast and desperate Xavrien’s hands fiddled with the button and zipper of his trousers. He sheds the suit jacket in the same manner, and began to unbutton the dress shirt before giving up.

He has plenty of those anyway.

The cold bites against his skin, but it meant nothing compared to what was coming next. Aymeric drinks in Xavrien’s expression; his eyebrows were lowered, the flush now reaching the tips of his ears, breathing coming out short and labored.

A wordless plea was plain on the adventurer’s face. But Aymeric intends to stretch this dance out a little longer; eyes half-lidded in intrigue.

“You look like you want something,” he begins.

_Hook._

“Ugh, I-I want…” Xavrien stumbles.

“Use your words,” Aymeric commands firmly.

 _Line_.

“More.”

“More of what?”

_And sinker._

“Damnit, just tell me what to do… order m-me around…” The adventurer’s voice came out raspy and _endearingly_ desperate.

Aymeric can acutely feel the fingers curling around the elastic of his smallclothes, reeling from the fire gnawing at his stomach. Before, Xavrien’s stubbornness would lead to endless teasing on Aymeric’s end, but it felt _good_ to turn the tables once in a while.

While he wouldn’t admit it to the adventurer, Aymeric finds Xavrien’s submissiveness… quite addicting. The savior of Eorzea, the savior of worlds, the slayer of gods and primals alike—at Aymeric’s command.

He reaches down and absently cards a hand through Xavrien’s hair, ever so slightly tugging at the soft white and deep-blue locks. “I _could_ put that pretty mouth or skilled hand of yours at work.” He opts to affectionately stroke the adventurer’s hair, eliciting a frustrated, short-lived whine. He senses Xavrien squirming on his knees.

Aymeric relishes in his victory.

Xavrien exhales and huffs a breath roughly, the heat brushing the front of Aymeric’s smalls. The sudden, fleeting friction nearly made Aymeric’s knees buckle. In that same moment, his resolve crumbles.

“M-mouth, Halone be damned…” he murmurs breathlessly and in defeat.

With a smug, triumphant smirk Xavrien frees Aymeric of his restraints.

Maybe Aymeric shouldn’t have celebrated too early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i also really find the idea of aymeric trying hard to be a dominant top but failing really funny  
> also my wol has /some/ merit as a weaver and i find it hilarious now that i think about it
> 
> elezen simping shenanigans at [@tripiecast](https://twitter.com/tripIecast)!


	11. magick (and mend)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric visits the Warrior of Light after the Ghimlyt Dark. 
> 
> [Post-Stormblood, Named/Specific WoL, Established(ish?) Relationship, Mild Sexual Content, Canon Divergence, Yearning-and lots of it]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNbeta'd as you know it i just thoughto f this scenario the other day

“Stay?”

Aymeric was mere moments before taking his leave, until the Warrior of Light’s voice cut through his thoughts. In the same breath, he feels a cold, calloused hand gently slinking between his fingers. He turns his head to see Xavrien’s desperate, forlorn expression. Aymeric can feel himself mirror the adventurer’s face, heart twisting at the sight of Xavrien’s bedridden state.

Xavrien’s voice remained unsteady, and was barely above a whisper. “Call me callous—selfish, insensitive… but can you stay for a little longer? Just enough ‘til I can sleep?”

Without a second of hesitation, Aymeric sits down on the wooden stool next to the hospital bed. “Anything for you,” he replies, a smile gracing his lips. Maybe, he can be selfish for a moment as well.

The adventurer returns Aymeric’s smile; his eyes were bleary from sleep, but Aymeric can see the faintest hint of relief in them. Aymeric takes his seat once more beside the adventurer, before lightly running the back of his hand against Xavrien’s face. For a second, Xavrien looks surprised at his gesture—then melted contentedly into his touch like a man starved. Like a sunflower reaching for the sunlight’s heavenly rays.

Aymeric finds himself thinking: what if someone were to walk in? What if they witnessed a _considerably_ informal interaction between the Lord Commander of Ishgard and the Warrior of Light? What will happen to the both of them then? Mildly exasperated, Aymeric mentally shakes his head. His relationship with the Warrior of Light had been… unconventional.

Not quite lovers, yet beyond just friends.

Before he can speak, the adventurer starts first.

“In my journey in the Far East, I–I’ve been doing some thinking,” Xavrien begins. His gaze was no longer fixed on Aymeric; instead, his narrowed eyes stared at the ceiling. His eyebrows were furrowed in sternness and concentration. Aymeric leans forward in interest, silently urging Xavrien to continue. Xavrien exhales slowly, “About myself. What I’ve done,” he pauses before nervously glancing around. “And about us.”

Oh.

Aymeric can only imagine what kind of journey Xavrien embarked on.

“Oh,” Aymeric says dumbly; a bit stunned at the warrior’s words. Whether his heart was thrumming in excitement or dread was a question left for the heavens to answer.

Xavrien only looks amused at Aymeric’s reaction; lips quirked in a small smile. “Don’t worry, it’s not bad. But, I do have my answer for your question.” Ah, yes—the question that Aymeric asked ere he and Xavrien parted ways as ‘friends’ who shared a bed in the cold, sleepless nights.

_Will you accept my offer of courtship?_

“As I told you then, you already know the answer,” Xavrien remarks as his smile grows larger ever so slightly. Aymeric feels his heart leap as pure joy runs through his veins, but if he were to be honest, he feels far too fatigued to express such boundless mirth. Instead, he intends to poke a bit at the adventurer.

He grins at Xavrien, voice low and dulcet. “I would prefer hearing the answer from your lips.”

Almost immediately, Xavrien looks scandalized, “Oh, you little… fine, then.” He rolls his eyes, but Aymeric catches the playful smirk on his face. Xavrien clears his throat, before dramatically swooning. “I—the Warrior of Light, Savior of Eorzea, Slayer of Nidhogg, Liberator of Ala Mhigo—would be deeply honored to accept the offer of courtship from Lord Commander and Lord Speaker Ser Aymeric of House Borel.” He punctuates his theatrics with a flourish, left panting from the rather wordy sentence.

Aymeric can see the fire re-enkindled in the adventurer’s eyes; in spite of all the bandages and gauze that marked the aftermath of the Ghimlyt Dark. He tries to straighten his face, and he spots Xavrien doing the same as they maintained their gazes at each other. Like rushing water breaking free from a crumbling dam, they both spilled into laughter. Aymeric nearly keels over in his chair—Xavrien laughing into a stray pillow.

Aymeric can feel his sides burn, but it was unmatched to the delight blazing in his heart. It was plain on Xavrien’s face too; eyes swimming with affection. Silenced washed over the room for a few heartbeats. Xavrien broke the silence once more. “When was the last time we were alone together like this?” he asks, the joy in his voice a bit more subdued. It had been a moon or two since the adventurer departed for the Far East. A moon or two since Aymeric last saw him.

“Surely, you don’t remember our temporary stay in the Ala Mhigan quarter?” Aymeric suggests.

The faintest hint of a flush appeared across Xavrien’s face. “Pfft—that hardly counted. I fell dead asleep before we could do anything.”

Without thinking, Aymeric blurts out, “Would you like it to be different this time, perhaps?” Usually, it’s the adventurer who makes such risqué suggestions, but taking initative is like second-nature to Aymeric.

Xavrien blinks at him before arching a brow in intrigue. He slides a hand on Aymeric’s forearm, the barest hint of contact. “Come closer then,” he invites, as a wicked grin grows on his face. Aymeric returns with a grin of his own; slowly climbing towards the warrior on the bed, slinking his long limbs around the other’s. His face was mere ilms from the adventurer’s; feeling Xavrien’s grip on his forearm sinking into his armguards. Both of their breaths lingered in the shared space between them, the heat blooming across Aymeric’s face and chest.

With the adventurer under him, Aymeric expected a sultry wisecrack with a scorching glance. He’s met with something else. Xavrien remained silent, a trace of hunger in his scarlet eyes—but most of all—longing.

In the midst of his reverie, Aymeric realizes how his armor might be uncomfortable against Xavrien’s mostly bare (and bandaged) skin. “Am I hurting you?”

The warrior curiously tilts his head. “No, not at all. You’re fine. You’re perfect,” he replies with a low timbre. “Though, I wouldn’t mind if you were a little rougher with me.”

Unintentionally, Aymeric shudders at Xavrien’s praise and proposition. His reaction elicited a curious hum from Xavrien. Aymeric’s gaze roams over the other elezen’s prone body before shaking his head. “I’m afraid I have to abstain from indulging you, given your current physical state,” he manages out, keeping his voice resolute.

Xavrien places a coy peck on the corner of Aymeric’s mouth. “I’ll hold you to that,” he counters breathlessly. Slinging his arms around then behind the lord commander’s neck, he gently guides Aymeric’s lips to his own. Aymeric can only make a muffled, pleased noise in return against the adventurer’s lips.

Desperately chasing the warmth, Aymeric shifts his body—just enough to press himself closer to Xavrien. His arms planted themselves on either side of the warrior’s head; his right knee tentatively settling between Xavrien’s legs. He feels Xavrien’s lips caress his own, roughly tugging this way and that, suggesting that he follow. A groan unwittingly escapes him, causing Xavrien to whine and buck his hips instinctively at the sound.

Aymeric pulls away momentarily from the Xavrien’s ravenous mouth, drinking in the adventurer’s indecent, half-lidded expression. He trails light kisses along Xavrien’s jawline in reassurance—slowly hiking a hand on the warrior’s thigh, urging to spread his legs apart. Xavrien, utterly pliant and _helpless_ , obediently does so; the blush on his face deepening even further. Aymeric hears the other elezen’s labored, heavy panting; noticing his chest rapidly rising and falling. The sight merely roused the piercing heat in Aymeric’s gut.

He feels Xavrien’s arm become lax around him; nails now digging at the nape of his neck. Xavrien swallows thickly, voice brittle and shaky.

“Aymeric, I—ah!”

At the same time, Aymeric snapped his hips against Xavrien’s, causing the adventurer to yelp. Whatever Xavrien intended to say dissipates and now belongs to the air. “Gods, you’re so h-hah…” Xavrien groans, trailing off as he ruts against Aymeric’s hips; which began to insist eagerly in return.

This was far from romantic, or practical, or the correct time (and place) for it—hells, they were still clothed—but damn it, the friction felt _good_. And familiar.

Aymeric build a steady rythm, his trousers now unbearably tight. “Hmm? You want more?” he murmurs against Xavrien's bared neck. Slowly sinking his eyeteeth into the adventurer’s neck, he grazes the pallid skin; just enough to lightly bruise. Nothing like a quick _Cure_ can fix. He feels Xavrien tremble and whimper under him.

Xavrien’s voice was shot, as if he were yelling for a thousand moons. “M-make a mess out of me, dammit. Wreck my h—”

Another distant, distinctly feminine voice—which belonged to neither of the men—interrupts the adventurer. It came from the doorway.

“I would advise you to do no such thing, Ser Aymeric.”

Aymeric feels his heart plummet. He straightens up immediately, whipping his head to see the poor unfortunate soul who walked in on them. It was one of the chirurgeons. Shame bubbled up in Aymeric’s chest, slowly prying himself from Xavrien. Xavrien himself buried his face in his hands, before turning away on the bed. Aymeric feels the chirurgeon’s gaze on him; his skin prickling in utter embarrassment. When he’s finally upright, and a fulm away from Xavrien’s bed, he clears his throat.

“M-my apologies…” Aymeric begins.

The chirurgeon waltzes into the room, a curious smile on her face. “Here I had intended to check on the Warrior of Light’s condition after his rest, but it appears the Lord Commander himself has done my job for me.” She stops near the head of Xavrien’s hospital bed, her voice stern. “You may be the Warrior of Light, but you’re human just like the rest of us. Inviting Ser Aymeric while you’re in a fragile state, really, Xav?”

Xavrien only offers an ungraceful, muted noise in response. Aymeric felt a spark of surprise—was this chirurgeon familiar with the warrior?

She turns to Aymeric, “And you, my lord; I hope you don’t make it a habit to disturb a patient in critical condition.”

He raises in hands in surrender, guilt coursing through his nerves. Xavrien answers before him. “I’m fine, really.” His words were cut off by a yawn.

The chirurgeon sighs before shaking her head, “No, you’re not.”

“You need more sleep,” Aymeric and the chirurgeon comment simultaneously. She cocks an eyebrow at him, amusement in her maroon eyes.

Deeply sighing, Xavrien acquiesces. “Fine, fine…” He flops over to face Aymeric, “I’ll see you soon?” he asks—hope evident on his face. Aymeric nods gently.

“Of course,” he assures Xavrien, smiling warmly at the adventurer. Aymeric gratefully (and apologetically) nods at the chirurgeon, confident that Xavrien is in good hands, before taking his leave. By the time he was a few steps into the hallway, he hears a pointedly loud voice (the chirurgeon’s, Aymeric surmises) ring from the room.

“When did this bruise on your neck appear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chirurgeon is rien's ishgardian cousin hawyee  
> feel free to leave kudos or comment!! all of those are greatly appreciated♥♥  
> elf brainrot shenanigans at [@tripiecast](https://twitter.com/tripIecast)!


	12. the night's not over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banter after indulging in the pleasures of the flesh wasn't very new to the Warrior of Light and Aymeric, anyway.
> 
> [Vaguely Post-Shadowbringers, Named/Specified WoL, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is horny . that is it  
> unbeta'd because this exchange wouldnt leave my HEAD; will do edits when im normal again

“I’m close…” was all Aymeric can muster between gasps, nerves and limbs burning hot from effort.

Below him, Xavrien slowly combed his fingers through Aymeric’s hair, before slightly digging his nails into the other elezen’s scalp, “Go on then,” he encourages; voice strained from overstimulation. His chest rose and fell rapidly, chasing for more air in between his panting. The mirror his back rested on felt strange against his skin, but he opted to chase another sensation.

One way or another, it always ended up like this—the Warrior of Light and the Lord Commander spending some _quality_ time alone. _Together_. Whatever adventure or itinerary Xavrien embarked upon, he would return home to Ishgard without fail; sometimes greeted by a needy Aymeric. Of course, he would be happy to oblige.

Rarely would their private forays be desperate and frantic, but when Aymeric hastily grabbed Xavrien by the hips and lifted him up to the top of the marble counter in the master bathroom before firmly planting himself between the adventurer’s thighs, it turned potential tender exchanges into dust. Aymeric’s wordless message was received loud and clear.

Face buried in Xavrien’s shoulder, a breathy, stuttered moan escapes Aymeric. He feels the mounting pressure in his abdomen dissipate then spread to the rest of his lower half. Hips faltering, he spills deep inside the adventurer—shuddering from the overwhelming pleasure. With how close they are, Aymeric senses Xavrien’s selfsame trembling; who was now lazily rolling his hips in tandem to Aymeric’s high.

It felt like it could have been minutes, hours, or days even—before Aymeric finally slumps against Xavrien’s body, earning a soft ‘oof’ from the adventurer. He takes deep, short breaths, fighting the creeping unconsciousness. The freezing cold marble against his feverish skin did little to help. A few heartbeats pass by the time Aymeric collects himself.

“Forgive me, it appears that I… that I went on a trip to the heavens and back,” he begins breathlessly. Fatigue was starting to settle deep into his bones. “Multiple times,” he adds.

The adventurer shifts under him, Xavrien craning his neck to trace light kisses against Aymeric’s sharp jawline, voice gentle and warm. “Wherever you went, I hope it was nice,” he replies, smiling at the raven-haired elezen. Xavrien’s lithe arms around Aymeric’s neck begin to relax, likely from exhaustion. Aymeric feels his eyebrows knit and studies Xavrien’s face; flushed to a lovely shade of red before sheepishly glancing away.

“Ah… ’nice’ is a woeful understatement,” Aymeric murmurs tiredly. He feels utterly _drained_.

Enervation was plain on Xavrien’s face as well, but it was betrayed by an arched, waggling eyebrow. “Enjoy me that much, do you?” He punctuates his point with one meaningful buck on Aymeric’s length, which was still inside him.

Aymeric’s knees would’ve buckled if it weren’t for the piercing spark of pleasure and overstimulation straightening his spine. He manages a half-broken moan. “Y—yes…” he trails off, “You feel—nice and… warm…” His mind was in a bleary haze, words escaping him. Instinctively, his hips began to insist once more, albeit languidly. His absent eloquence earned him an amused hum from Xavrien.

Chuckling faintly, Xavrien remarks with a smirk, “If I wasn’t the Warrior of Light and if you aren’t the Lord Commander, I would be glad to let you bask in all my warmth all day.”

Aymeric bites on his lower lip, swallowing thickly. “Seems like, ah, an unusual intimate practice,” he gasps out. The idea made his head spin, “but that sounds nice as well…”

The adventurer almost looked surprised at his words, which quickly melted into a sultry gaze, “Am I a bad influence? Or am I merely coaxing out this deviant side of you?”

Aymeric sighs, noticing how clammy and sweaty his own skin felt. The fog cleared from his mind. “Whichever methods you employ, rest assured that they are undoubtedly successful,” he replies before making a move to pry himself from Xavrien. His hand resting on the adventurer’s hip traveled down, towards one of the back of Xavrien’s knees, slightly urging it further apart and upward.

The adventurer silently follows his guidance, remaining pliant—a scarlet eye observant yet affectionate, the other silvery eye hidden by stray locks of hair.

Aymeric’s face nearly, almost instantly flushed, once he completely withdrew from Xavrien’s body—whatever he had _offered_ (which was no meager amount) trickled thickly down between the warrior’s inner thighs, and onto the now formerly pristine marble counter. The sight was obscene.

Xavrien must have noticed his expression, since the edges of his mouth quirked into a smug smile.

“Seems like a plentiful bounty this time around, huh?” he jokes as Aymeric opens a drawer and fishes for a washcloth. Aymeric rests an ice-blue eye on Xavrien as he turns the faucet on to dampen the washcloth.

“By now, I am more confounded at the fact that you have not emptied me like a keg,” Aymeric returns while running the washcloth over Xavrien’s thighs and abdomen; which were coated by a rather wicked mix of their spend. Xavrien makes an appreciative noise and leans into Aymeric’s ministrations—seemingly, all his inclination to continue joking was thrown out the window.

But of course, Xavrien always wanted the last word.

“Sounds like a challenge to me,” he provokes, mischief on his mien burning brighter than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, in voice chat at 3am in the morning, barely above a whisper: Y'ALL THINK AYMERIC KNOWS WHAT COCKWARMING IS???  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/tripIecast) where i am inexplicably h*rny for elezen i guess


	13. the breath of your heart (sings me a lullaby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric cannot recall the last time he had a moment to _breathe._
> 
> [Vaguely Post-Shadowbringers, Named/Specified WoL, Established Relationship, Fluff, Content Warning; Panic Attacks]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this uhhhhh ended up way longer than i thought. all fluff no games, also unbeta'd ahaha forgive any typos and such english isn't first language and i'll do some edits later  
> at this point i'm surprised aymeric hasn't gone bananas frm all the work he has done and NEEDS to do im glad they're freeing him in 5.4

After years of beholding a duty brimming with politics, Aymeric wonders if he finally found his breaking point. Days and weeks blurred into muddled memories. Sometimes, he thinks that he's been staring at the same document for months. The soft, downy feather on his quill felt like razor-sharp needles. His office—what once was familiar and warm—now like a jail cell.

At the First and Second Commander's behest, Aymeric agreed on taking one day of rest per week; Lucia commenting that he looked like he will "drop dead any moment." Handeloup reassured him that Ishgard will not fall into disarray the moment that he steps out the Congregation's door.

Aymeric was eternally grateful for their suggestion and dedication. It had been nearly a moon since the arrangement and it did allow him recover, albeit slowly. Surely.

But alas, a restless soul such as he craves something, anything to do. Other than to sit, wait, and rest.

Thus, he finds himself sitting in the leather chair of his home office. He mentally fishes for an excuse to do _some_ work, as he steals a glance at the Warrior of Light a few feet away. Xavrien's face was buried in a leather-bound grimoire. He stretched luxuriously (and comically) on the loveseat; legs dangling from the top of the armchair while his back was on the seat. The adventurer's presence was comforting and delightful, to say the least.

Aymeric looks back at the sheaf of papers of his desk. While his desk at home is significantly more quaint, he cannot help but feel that the dark, rich wood was tainted by the pure white papers. He closes his eyes; exhaling slowly. He needs to finish drafting a proposal for the next assembly with the Houses at the Vault. Gingerly dipping his quill into the inkwell, he makes a motion to continue writing.

Yet, the words and ideas never came.

He feels a surge of frustration and fatigue swell in his chest, but he pushes it away; far, far from his mind. This should be easy as breathing. Why was he struggling so much? Is he truly fit to be a leader for Ishgard, if he can be reduced to this? He feels his eyebrows furrow. A blizzard of thoughts raged in his mind.

And then, a piercing pain shot through his head. It nearly made him fall over in his chair; the stinging pain seemed to radiate throughout his skull. His breaths came out short and shallow, his chest now twisting in an indescribable manner. It was like as if a claw was gripped around his heart. A distant thud and shout made their way to his ears, but he cannot make out what they are.

Dizzying darkness creeps into the edges of his vision, threatening to take over—

"Aymeric! Can you hear me?" A desperate voice not his own barges into his mind.

At the sound of his name, Aymeric jerks and jolts, blinking rapidly to clear his bleary eyes. "Xavrien?" he breathes out, his throat scratchy and rough.

Xavrien was resting a hand on Aymeric's shoulder, likely shaking him to break free of—whatever just happened. Aymeric feels his heart lurch at the concern etched on the adventurer's face. Just in the corner of his eye, he spots Xavrien's grimoire; hastily thrown onto the floor.

Aymeric breathes out slowly, feeling his body shiver, but it seemed like the chill was inside his own body. Xavrien kneels down slowly next to Aymeric, his voice soft.

"Are you okay?" he asks, "You dropped your quill but you weren't responding to me."

Aymeric forces himself to smile, "I am fine, I assure you; perhaps it was naught but a dizzy spell." He tries his best to assume a reassuring, composed tone. It came out noticeably fabricated. Xavrien stands up silently, before reaching for Aymeric's wrist. The adventurer raises their arms together, noting how Aymeric's hand trembled in his loose grip. The disbelief on Xavrien's face cut like a blade.

Xavrien shakes his head, "No, you are not."

Aymeric tears his gaze away sheepishly, ashamed that he'd even try to put a farce on before the adventurer. Before he can say anything, the other elezen links their hands together before tugging gently. Aymeric looks at Xavrien in surprise; the adventurer merely offers a small smile. Another tug on his hand.

"Gonna follow?" Xavrien suggests.

Standing up to his full height, Aymeric nods, letting his hand rest in Xavrien's fingers. The contact fared better than any warmth of a fireplace. Hands remaining linked, Xavrien leads Aymeric out of the office, and into the dimly lit hallway before stopping before a familiar door. It was the door that lead to the balcony. Aymeric gives a curious glance at the adventurer.

Xavrien remained silent, but his intent was plain in his eyes. _Just trust me._

Their hands unlink, and Aymeric almost immediately missed the warmth. Xavrien pulls open the door before making a motion to follow him. Aymeric steps out of the doorway, greeted by the cascading rays of the sunset. He takes a moment to admire his surroundings; the amber light washed over the stone and brick buildings. To him, the sun felt like a sense of normalcy.

The adventurer closes the door behind them, before pacing towards the cushioned bench against the stone railing—waiting for Aymeric to follow. He does so, unable to recall the last time he was even on his own balcony. The elezen men sit down in silence.

The silence isn't suffocating per se, and it proved to Aymeric that Xavrien was a man of wordless gestures rather than spoken phrases.

Xavrien once again links both of their hands together, opposites entwined, before bringing them against his chest. "Breathe with me," he offers. Without a twinge of hesitation, Aymeric closes his eyes in concentration before following Xavrien's lead. He feels Xavrien's chest rise, and inhales sharply. Moments pass, and Xavrien exhales—Aymeric doing the same.

In and out. In. . . and out. They repeat this motion several times; and finally, Aymeric feels his heartbeat become slow and the raging storm in his mind calm down. He momentarily withdraws his hands from Xavrien. The adventurer's posture relaxes as well. Aymeric wordlessly collapses against Xavrien's chest; who rubs small circles in the small of his back in return.

He gathers up the strength to speak, "I am—I am not sure what came over me. Forgive me," he laments.

"Don't apologize for something like this," Xavrien replies, his words smooth like rich honey. "I think you were having a panic attack." Aymeric shifts his body, lying on his back while resting his head on Xavrien's lap; eyebrows narrowed in concentration and intrigue.

"Panic attack," Aymeric echoes absentmindedly, "How did. . . how did you know what to do?" He stumbles on his words; staring in utter awe at the adventurer. Xavrien doesn't respond immediately. He gently runs the pad of his thumb down the contours of Aymeric's face, his touch reverent. Suppressing a shiver, Aymeric leans into the touch like a lifeline.

The adventurer turns his gaze towards the sunset, one scarlet eye glimmering in the golden light. "I—I used to have panic attacks when I was younger," Xavrien admits solemnly. "People experience it differently. Some never go through it, certain situations can trigger it in others. Sometimes, it happens only once to someone when they're under great stress."

He sighs before returning his gaze on Aymeric, "My mom taught me deep breathing exercises."

Aymeric huffs out a stuttered breath before tilting his head up to meet Xavrien's eyes. "I do not know what I would do without you," he confesses. Xavrien’s eyes widen at Aymeric’s honesty. The adventurer shoots him an incredulous look, as if he said something horribly unorthodox. In a split second, the adventurer's face softens—he leans down to plant a kiss on the tip of Aymeric's nose.

“You’re capable of many a thing, Aymeric.” His lips quickly quirk into a smile. “But, It is nice to be needed, though.” The adventurer begins to card his fingers through the lord commander’s jet-black hair.

He leans over Aymeric’s face once more—the rays of light draping his hair like a lucent halo. “Our duties are far beyond each other’s ken, but I will be more than happy to help you with your burdens,” he finishes.

Aymeric can only stare at him in awestruck. “You have fought in wars not your own, saved Eorzea from certain doom, and slain countless primals. . . and all for what reward? And yet, you are so willing to aid me with _my_ burdens?” He’s surprised by his own tone of voice, which suddenly became stern.

The adventurer merely offers a blank stare at him, before pondering his question. “If I told you my answer, you wouldn’t believe me. Plenty of others didn’t.”

Aymeric cocks an eyebrow, a bit puzzled at Xavrien’s reply. “It must not be that bad.”

Half-heartedly shrugging, Xavrien flatly replies to him, “I love helping others.”

Silence.

Realization crashed down on Aymeric. Voice weak, he asks, “Are you certain that it is not a jest?”

His question earned him boisterous, heartfelt laughter from Xavrien—who rears his head back while playfully rolling his eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me!” Xavrien’s laughter dwindles; eyes boring onto Aymeric’s face, brimming with affection. “And I love helping you.”

The raven-haired elezen timidly tears his gaze away from Xavrien. Verbal affection was such a rarity from the other elezen, that every time he would hear as such, he feels his heart race like a daydreaming maiden's. The adventurer chuckles, the cool wind carrying his laughter into the clear Coerthan sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't actually know if that weird structure on the side of aymeric's house is a balcony bc there's no door that leads to it. let me live  
> feel free to drop kudos, a comment, or even a follow at my [tweeeeeeetar!!](https://twitter.com/tripIecast) any of those are greatly appreciated ❤️  
> Title ofc inspired by CRJ whats new


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